SHIELD Recruit Survival Tips
by HoT.aGaiNsT.a.WaLL
Summary: Join SHIELD's newest Agent Dean Collins on his misadventures and fumblings as he tries to find his footing in the mad world of the Avengers. Tips all from the Tumblr blog shieldrecruitsurvivaltips.
1. Tip One

**SHIELD Recruit Survival Tip #1:**

"Always make more coffee if you empty the pot. You do _not_ want to know what will happen to you if fail to do so."

* * *

Dean let out a tight sigh as he walked into the break room. It had been three weeks since he'd been recruited into the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, and he was still getting very little sleep along with constantly getting his ass kicked on a regular basis. It hadn't been this hard when he was in the FBI. He'd never been so sore, for so long, in his entire life. He was half-positive that his arms were going to fall off.

All he wanted to do was to fall off of the edge of the earth and sleep for a week. Or maybe a month. Unfortunately, he was on-call for at least the next twenty-four hours.

Rubbing fatigue from his gaze, he brightened slightly at the sight of coffee—however little there may be—still sitting in the pot. He padded over, limbs heavy, and poured himself a cup. It tasted like dirt, but it was warm and there was enough caffeine to wake him up. Letting out a groan, his light eyes rolled back for an instant, and he smiled into the mug. He leaned against the counter, happy to relax for the first time what seemed like forever.

It didn't last long.

"Hey, Collins!" A voice called from the doorway, and he glanced over at his fellow recruit—a young blonde, CIA reject who had bubblegum lips and a wickedly high accuracy level; he thought her name was Cathy or Kate, but he just called her Smith. "Get your ass in gear! That Spider-Dude has been spotted in downtown New York again, and Fury wants us to tag along with Coulson."

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded, downing the last of the coffee with a cringe. He set the mug in the sink and followed after her. "Jesus… can't even catch a five minute break."

As he walked through the door, an exhausted looking Clint Barton and his partner Natasha Romanoff brushed by. He offered a brief smile that wasn't returned, and his face fell as he turned to face Agent Smith. Her brow quirked up, and she gazed at him in amusement.

"Careful, Collins." She warned, tone playful even as she turned on her heel. "Your lazy is showing."

Looking affronted, his brow furrowed as he took chase. He opened his mouth, ready to protest—he wasn't being lazy, after all. He'd just been working for far longer than her little busy body had even been on the register. He was cut off, however, by the sound of a loud crash coming from behind them in the break room. Turning, he listened to a litany of curses come floating out, followed closely by the coffee pot being slung through the threshold, only to shatter against the wall.

"What the hell—?" Dean's green eyes widened in surprise, and he almost moved to go see what had happened.

"That's the third pot this week," the chipper, familiar voice of Agent Phil Coulson chimed in.

The brunette glanced over to find their Senor Agent standing astride them, hands in his pockets and brow furrowed. Agent Collins and Agent Smith shared a curious look, as if daring the other to ask the question that was burning on both of their tongues. Neither of them would take the bait, but Coulson didn't need them to.

"Lesson number one of the things that your superiors don't tell you to do after training," Phil quirked a small, seemingly forced smile. "Don't leave the coffee pot empty. You won't like what happens."

He peered over at them when they didn't respond, eyes unfathomable and unrevealing. Dean could feel Agent Smith shift uncomfortably next to him, and he swallowed thickly. Tense as he was, he jerked at the sound of another crash, and flinched as it was finished off by some very inventive Russian curses.

Phil sighed, turning the opposite direction and gesturing for the two of them to follow. "Come on. We probably don't want to stick around to see what else happens."

Agent Smith was quick to follow. Dean was even more eager.

TBC.

* * *

**A/N: **This will be an on-going FanFiction based off of each of the Survival Tips from the infamous Tumblr shieldrecruitsurvivaltips. Do feel free to join our two new recruits on their misadventures.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to S.H.I.E.L.D. or to the Tips given. Only the characters are my original idea.

**Warning:** There will be possible sexual situations, foul language, and adult content.


	2. Tip Two

**SHIELD Recruit Survival Tip #2:**

"Remain aware of the ceiling tiles. Agent Barton likes to hide in them with NERF weaponry."

* * *

"Jesus _fucking Christ_ on toast!" Agent Collins batted away yet another projectile—little Styrofoam darts that had been hitting him in the chest, in the back, in the _freaking_ head periodically throughout the day.

Whipping around, his light eyes narrowed into an intense glare, scanning the other personnel that were walking the hall. None of them appeared suspicious. Granted, none of them appeared surprised by the loud outburst from their fellow member of staff. He might've gotten a few wary glances, but none of them stopped what they were doing—none of them stopped where they were going. It was as if what was happening to him was absolutely normal.

Which, in and of itself, was _so not normal_.

Huffing, he turned on his heel, continuing on his way to the sparring room; he had an appointment with a certain dark-haired Agent—some newbie they'd recruited from Russia or some shit named Dmitri. It was sort of like a form of initiation for all the new, fully instated Agents to physically train and spar with the new ones. Dean was just praying that Dmitri wasn't going to be as spry as the last one. His neck was _still_ aching from the previous weeks'.

Another dart pegged him in the back of the head, and he whipped around, green eyes wide and accusing. "Who the—?"

"Look up," commanded from behind him, and he instinctively did as he was told, barely catching the sight of the ceiling tile shifting back into the place.

"Son of a bitch," Dean mumbled, eyebrows hiking up near his hairline as he stared at the ceiling in awe. "Who—?"

"Hawkeye," came the reply, and he turned to see Steve Rogers standing there, posture rigid and militant. "Agent Barton, that is. He likes to mess with the new employees. Says it helps build character."

Incredulous, he shook his head. "Attacking the freshmeat with NERF guns builds character?"

"I said he liked to do it," Steve shrugged, offering up a polite smile. "I never said it made sense."

"Well, let him know that it's damn annoying."

The faintest of blushes spread over the other man's face, features falling, and Dean instantly realized where he'd gone wrong. He flushed himself, awkwardly clearing his throat as an apologetic look came over his face.

"Sorry for the language, Captain Rogers." He said, standing just a bit straighter. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

"Not a problem, soldier." The blond flashed him a brief smile, moving to leave. "Just an adjustment that I'll have to make. See you around."

Dean returned the smile, nodded as a goodbye, and then blinked in surprise as he spotted one of the tiles shifting up above, a plastic muzzle poking out from the depths. He watched as Clint launched another missile at an unsuspecting intern with cruel accuracy. His lips twitched up into a grin, and he silently conceded that maybe Hawkeye had the right idea.

TBC.


	3. Tip Three

**SHIELD Recruit Survival Tip #3:**

"Please do not offer to 'expose' Steve Rogers to the 21st century."

* * *

Agent Collins stared at the clipboard in his hands with acute fascination. He wondered if his evaluation sheet had looked half as good as Dmitri Novak's. He imagined that it would have to—SHIELD Agents had to have exceptional proficiency in a plethora of areas, from being able to assemble, load, and empty a standard issue Glock .40 in under seventeen seconds, to having extraordinary people skills. Dean would like to think that he had a one up on the guy considering how low he'd scored in Social Encounters, but knew that his Proficiency levels had made the man worth keeping on. He hummed under his breath, making a note on the chart before he flipped to the next assessment sheet.

A nudge from the Senor Agent on his left had him glancing up from the clipboard with a mildly glazed look in his eyes. Coulson's brow quirked up bemusedly, and there was a curious glint in his steely gaze that made Dean feel strangely analyzed. He cleared his throat, as if cueing the older man to speak.

"Too boring for you?" he asked, and the brunette was instantly confused. "The babysitting job? Is it too boring for you? Because I can always put you back on—"

"What? No! No," he shook his head as they walked along a corridor in the newly instated Avengers Tower; he'd been working closely with Coulson, helping keep the gaggle of heroes from tearing each other apart. Otherwise known as babysitting. Otherwise known as surprisingly boring. "It's… _loads_ of fun. I'm just going over these profiles—you know how yawn-worthy paperwork can be."

"Ah, yes," Phil agreed amiably, but Dean couldn't help but feel that he was being let off the hook. "I remember having to do those when I first started. It lets us see how good you are at picking new recruits. You'd be surprised how valuable a talent that can be."

It was surprising to hear. Phil Coulson wasn't famous for trying to relate with the newest members of the SHIELD 'team'. In fact, he generally kept a certain distance—a certain aloofness. From the rumors Dean had heard he was only ever kind to two kinds of Agents—ones that showed extreme potential, and ones that were about to get extremely canned. He desperately hoped it was the former.

He was about to reply, ready to ask what happened to the people who showed that talent, when he was abruptly cut off by a disgruntled and flustered Captain America, who came barging from out of what looked like the Avengers' entertainment room (Dean was still getting a hold of the layout—he'd only been there for the last couple of days during his off time). Blue eyes glanced over at them, and he was genuinely surprised to see the other man grow redder. He stammered slightly, falling over his words as he tried to excuse himself, even as a worried expression took hold of Agent Coulson's face.

"Captain, are you alright?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"F-Fine!" He exclaimed nervously, and Dean figured it was probably a good thing that at least one of the Avengers couldn't lie to save his life. "Just, uh… I was just—"

"Oh, c'mon, Capsicle!" Tony poked his head out, grinning from ear to ear. "You're missin' the best part."

Steve sent the other man a dirty glare before he twisted around and stalked off—if Dean had to guess, he'd say he'd gone off to go brood somewhere in private. He'd seen his little brother do something similar enough times before. Blinking, he turned back to watch as Coulson berated a smirking Anthony E. Stark. _The _Anthony E. Stark. A man that he'd only seen on video and in _Time_ magazine. It was odd seeing him in person.

"What have I _told you_, Stark?" Coulson crossed his arms, looking very much like a scolding father. "We do not 'expose' Captain Rogers to twenty-first century media."

"Thor seemed to be enjoying it," he shrugged nonchalantly, and Dean wasn't sure if Coulson was going to rip his head off or rip his heart out. "Not my fault Steve ran off like a blushing virgin on her wedding night at the sight of a little skin."

"That's because _Thor_ is from a planet full of warriors. _Steve_ is from the forties," he informed him dryly; Agent Collins got the distinct feeling that they'd had this conversation before. "He's _polite_. And it would serve you well _not_ to embarrass your resident super soldiers, Stark."

Dean stood, sort of dumbstruck, as Coulson walked away. He assumed that the older man was going after their very own Man Out of Time, and figured it would be best if he handled it alone. The downside was that he was currently stuck with Tony Stark. A _pouting_ Tony Stark. He swallowed thickly, clutching his clipboard tightly to his chest.

"If it, um…" he cleared his throat as dark eyes landed on him. "If it makes you feel better? Captain Rogers probably wasn't just _acting_ like a blushing virgin."

Tony paused, and then a wicked grin spread back across his face. There was a chortled gratitude, and a hand clapped companionably on his shoulder for an instant. Hesitating for a moment, he offered up a small nod before he began walking again. He had paperwork he could be doing, and superheroes he definitely should be avoiding.

**TBC.**


	4. Tip Four

**SHIELD Recruit Survival Tip #4:**

"Do not volunteer for any tests Tony Stark recommends. Ever."

* * *

He should have known it was a bad idea the second Stark's eyes lit up at the sight of him. He should have seen that look, tucked tail, and run for the hills. He should have stayed in the FBI because this superhero bullshit was starting to really grate. But Tony had perked up like an enthusiastic puppy dog the second Dean had walked into the room. Dean had been done for in that instant.

"You!" Tony'd exclaimed as he walked into the lab, tray full of food for the hard-working scientists balanced precariously in his hands. "Just the man I was looking for!"

"Me?" he asked incredulously—because, really, why the hell would Tony be looking for him? Ever?

"Yes," he nodded, waving him over, and Dr. Banner glanced up from what he was working to offer a polite smile. "Agent… O'Connell, right?"

He let his green eyes hover over what appeared to be a weapon; it was large and made of a strange metal and sitting in the middle of the worktable. "Agent Collins."

"Right, right." Tony grinned, snatching a bagel off of the tray before he'd even had a chance to set it down. "I need your help."

That wasn't right. That _certainly_ wasn't right. Tony Stark did _not_ ask for help. Specifically, he did not ask for _Agents' _help. It was, like, in some rulebook somewhere. It just didn't happen.

Setting the tray of food down on an empty counter across from where the two men were still fiddling with whatever-it-was, Dean's brow quirked up. "What exactly do you need me for?"

"You like guns, right?"

"What—?"

"Of _course_ you like guns. You're a super-secret-suit-boy. All of you like guns." Tony rambled on, somehow simultaneously talking to him and ignoring him while gesturing wildly with his hands. "You sleep with one under your pillow, right?"

"Tony, we really shouldn't be—" Bruce tried to interject quietly, glancing from his companion, to the weapon, to Dean, and back again.

"Yes, we should. We need to know if it works—"

Dean cleared his throat, and both scientists focused on him. "I don't sleep with one under my pillow. I sleep with it on my nightstand."

Tony grinned, wicked and mischievous. "Wanna see something really cool?"

And that's how Tony roped him into testing out this alien weaponry. Some gun that only worked when the specific species had hold of it—that they were rewiring so that they could see if humans could work it. To see if the weapon could be turned on the invading, hostile forces.

That's also how Dean went flying across the room, crashing through one of the glass walls. That's also how he ended up in the medical wing of SHIELD Headquarters with Director Fury standing there looking none-too-pleased. It wouldn't be the last time.

**TBC.**


	5. Tip Five

**SHIELD Recruit Survival Tip #5:**

"The Avengers should not be looked upon as behavioral role models under any circumstance."

* * *

Dmitri wouldn't stop staring.

At first, it had been fine. Normal. He would just glance over at them, obvious fascination in his gaze. However, now, it was starting to get creepy. Stalkerish creepy. He would stare—literally _squinting_ at them like they were something that was growing inside of a petri dish. His head would tilt slightly as he examined them. Dean thought it was eerie as all Hell.

He'd had the tag-along since he'd gotten the O.K. to get back on duty. Fury had instantly put him back on Avenger-watch, and Dean had been surprised. Apparently he'd made quite the impression. Or, rather, he'd made such a fleeting one that none of the heroes had protested having him around. Which was fine with Dean, really. Less paperwork when you had to watch them. Unless something end-of-the-worldy was going down. That had yet to happen on Dean's watch, and he planned to keep it that way.

The drawback was that Agent Novak had to tail him like a freaking guard dog. Dean was still in a sling—the kickback from the alien-gun-thing had dislocated his shoulder pretty good—and both Fury and Coulson had decided that he needed an extra pair of hands with him. So they'd given him Dmitri. Dmitri who never got any of his references and watched the Avengers so closely Dean was certain that they'd start spontaneously combusting. Dmitri who—

"I want to be like him," the other, slightly older, man's gruff voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he glanced over at his personal rookie.

"Pardon?" Dean asked, half-curious and half-confused.

"I want to be like him," he stated again, more firmly, with more conviction. "Agent Barton. I wish to be like him."

Dean blinked, line of sight switching to see what he was talking about. They were in the Avengers' training room, all of them practicing on one thing or another. It was a scheduled, kind-of-not-really daily preparation that they were all supposed to participate in. Something about team bonding.

The aforementioned Barton was in his own area, bowstring drawn tight as he concentrated on the target in front of him. An easy target, but they never said that the kind-of-not-really daily preparation had to be particularly difficult. As long as most of them were there most of the time for at least five or ten minutes, that was all that really mattered to Dean. He knew that they would train on their own time.

"Um…" his brow furrowed, and he glanced back at Dmitri. "Why?"

The Russian blinked, as if not comprehending the question, and tore his ethereal blue gaze away from the practicing hero. "Why?"

"Yeah. Why?" Dean urged, setting his magazine aside; he hadn't been really reading it anyways. "Why Agent Barton? Why do you want to be like him?"

Blue and green caught, and Dmitri stared at him for a long moment—similar to how he'd been staring at the Avengers for the last forty-eight hours or so. He'd only just been cleared to start officially working at the beginning of the week as a SHIELD Agent, and he hadn't had the chance to interact with their resident superheroes much. Generally, he just hovered around wherever his current partner was; that was currently Agent Collins' role.

"He's extremely renowned for his prowess, Agent Collins." Dmitri responded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He doesn't have a bad mark on his file. Why wouldn't I want to be like him?"

"Have you _met_ him?"

Dmitri blinked, tilting his head curiously. "Of course I have."

"No, not—" Dean huffed out a sigh, turning to face him more fully. "I'm not talking about the formal introduction thing that we all do. I'm asking you if you've _met_ Clint Barton. The real Clint Barton—no rank or formalities misapprehending the situation. Have you ever had a conversation with the guy?"

"In passing, certainly." He said assuredly, like he was worried that he might be failing some unforeseen test.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, Novak. _A conversation_. Like something you and a friend might have."

"Well," Dmitri paused, brow furrowing as he glanced over at Hawkeye before slowly looking back to Dean. "No."

Dean thought that maybe he should just let it go. Maybe he should just let him go on in ignorant bliss, seeing Agent Barton as some sort of role model. That was what all of the other higher Agents had done to him when he'd first joined not too long ago. But Agent Collins had a heart, and his heart pitied the poor guy. Dmitri might've had a couple of years on him, but he was pretty naïve in some senses.

Reaching out, he clapped a conspiratorial hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. Blue eyes glimmered with curiosity, and Dean glanced over at the Avengers, hard at work, before he gave his rookie a comforting look. He was about to ruin all those picture perfect images. It was a sad, sad thing. Like telling someone that Santa didn't actually exist.

"Agent Barton, admittedly, has a great record on file," Dean supplied, and he could make out the beginnings of a brilliant smile on Dmitri's face. "But this is also the same man who, on repeated occasions, has gotten so drunk on the job that he's had to have Agent Romanoff get him out of some shit situations."

The man blanched. "He'd drink? On the job?"

"Yep," he nodded, a faux-disappointed expression taking life on his face. "He also shoots NERF guns at the newbies."

Impossibly blue eyes widened. "So _that's_ what that was!"

A small smile curled on his lips. "That's what that was."

Dmitri looked over at Agent Barton again. There was something new in his expression, something akin to disillusionment, and Dean nearly felt bad. Nearly. The guy was better off this way.

"Word for the wise, Novak," he said, leaning away and opening up his magazine once more. "Don't look up to any of the Avengers. There's always something that keeps them from being good role models—ethical or otherwise."

**TBC.**


	6. Tip Six

**SHIELD Recruit Survival Tip #6:**

"Dr. Banner is more than he appears. Make him angry, and it comes out of your paycheck."

* * *

Agent Smith let out a groan, slumping down until her forehead rested on the tabletop. Her hair was out of its usual ponytail, splaying over the glossy surface as she let out a small sound of distress. Dean might've offered comfort if he wasn't so blatantly amused.

"How, exactly?" he asked, lips twitching as he forced back the smirk.

"Wrong insult at the wrong time," she mumbled back pitifully, peering up at him through a curtain of blonde. "I didn't realize that he hadn't slept in over two days. The less he sleeps, the more likely he is to snap and go all Mean Greenie."

"Coulda told you that," he remarked, taking a sip of his coffee. "So how bad is it?"

"Next two paychecks," she said with a half-sob. "_Gone_."

Oh, yes. This was hilarious. He was going to hold this over her head for the next _forever_. She'd never be able to live it down. He'd watched the Avengers for an approximate of two whole weeks—both with Coulson and on his own—and he'd never once tripped the ticking time bomb that was Dr. Banner. It was nice to finally have a leg up on her.

"And they took me off babysitting duty permanently," Kate scowled, sitting up in her seat. It wasn't often that she failed at something. If ever. But Avenger-watch was a tough job. Not everyone could do it. Dean had been very happy when he'd finally gotten off of it. "They said that they were gonna put someone _better_ on."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean's brow quirked up curiously. "Who's that?"

Her eyes turned on him accusingly, and it was suddenly much less hilarious and a lot more _oh no_. "You."

Dean practically choked on his coffee.

**TBC.**

* * *

**A/N:** I hope that you all are enjoying these. Reviews are welcome.


	7. Tip Seven

**SHIELD Recruit Survival Tip #7:**

"If you purchase the last pack of donettes from the vending machine on Level 5, expect an exponential increase in your paperwork in the future. Agent Coulson doesn't mess around when it comes to snack food."

* * *

They hadn't been worth it; that was for damn sure. They had been stale anyways. Stale and the powdery kind. He'd just wanted a dose of sugar. He'd had a more-or-less rough time dealing with a disgruntled group of heroes who'd just acquired the knowledge that Thor's beloved little brother was going to be hanging around from time to time. It hadn't been pretty. There had been yelling. He'd been stressed. He'd just wanted something to calm his nerves.

Turned out that Agent Coulson didn't care about circumstances.

So instead of going home for the weekend to crash on his couch, eat Funions and pie, and watch "Grey's Anatomy" until his eyes fell out, he was stuck in the office. Doing paperwork. Lots of paperwork. _Too much_ paperwork.

He was never going to use the vending machine on Level 5 ever again.

**TBC.**


End file.
